Page 93 of To Scale the Emerald Mountain
Kraeston smiles at me playfully. “Careful, Princess. You might drop your walls enough to show that you do still care.” I scowl, and he laughs. “Don’t worry, Elly. Your mate doesn’t really need any guards. But I think you know that.”
“Then why have them at all if he’s such a harbinger of death?” Kraeston laughs loudly, making other patrons look our way. “He told me he was a mercenary,” I add hastily, attempting to hide my reddening face from curious glances.
“I didn’t tell Alec about your jealousy, but I will be telling him that you called him a harbinger of death. To answer your question: my father was his father’s guard until the Culling. I was raised to be the personal guard to the future King of Quinndohs. Of course,all my life I thought that would be Locane. It didn’t turn out that way. Can’t say that I’m heartbroken.”
“You’re loyal to Alec.”
“Well, Princess. I think that’s the first time I’ve heard you say his name. Progress.” I offer Kraeston another scowl, but red stains my cheeks. “Yes, I’m loyal to him. I was honored to swear my sword, my power, my life to Alec and Quinndohs when he took the throne. Not only because he is my king, but because he is my best friend. And I will be equally honored to swear the same oath to you.” His chest puffs with pride.
“Don’t think you have to pledge your life to me because everyone thinks I belong to your best friend,” I say snidely.
“Don’t be a brat, Elly. You should know by now that I care deeply for you, separate from what you are to my king and friend. If your full memories had been restored, you wouldn’t question that. And everyone doesn’t think that you’re his,” I open my mouth to argue, but Kraeston continues cheerfully, “They know that you’re his—in the exact same way that he is yours. Do you really place that much blame on Alec for what happened?”
I grind my teeth and take a sip of my cold mint tea.
Kraeston examines me knowingly when I don’t answer. “They are not the same, Elly. I hope that you will give Alec a chance to prove that. He is nothing but devoted to you.”
“It doesn’t matter now.”
Anxious to be alone and take a bath, I barely pick at my food. A wave of relief washes over me when I arrive in my now familiar chambers, my safety net. The room is beautiful. Really, everything I’ve seen in The Capital is beautiful. All colorful and bright against sandstone buildings. Everything is clean with geometric shapes and was clearly meticulously planned.
Sometimes, it almost feels like home.
After a bath, I sit before my vanity, looking in the mirror while I brush my hair. My vision still warps occasionally, and I’m plagued by sporadic headaches and nosebleeds. Even more than that, I struggle with the concept of time. I don’t know how long I continue to run the comb through my strands while I stare vapidly at my reflection, not seeing it at all.
In one of the drawers, I find a pair of sharp shears. Holding them in front of my face, I open them wide. My finger tip runs up the inside of the blade, and I push the pad of my finger down hard. A bead of blood wells. I watch it blossom before bringing my finger to my mouth and suck the drop away. I then watch as smooth skin stitches back over the wound.
I didn’t feel anything.
After repeating the process over and over and over, my skin is no longer healing quickly, taking longer to knit itself back together with each prick. I had exhausted myself earlier, it must now be hindering my ability to heal.
A soft knock in my main chamber barely catches my attention. When I don’t respond, the sound of the door opening quietly breaks me fully out of my trance. I hold my breath and listen. There’s the soft thumps of items being placed on a surface, then another, followed by retreating footsteps and the door closing swiftly. I wait several more minutes to make sure he’s left, well aware of who it was.
Sitting on my nightstand and the floor next to it are two stacks of books. On top of the stack on my nightstand is a white piece of paper with a handwritten note.
Elly,
I took the liberty of finding some of your favorite books until you have the opportunity to procure some for yourself. I also selected some texts on the histories we discussed recently. There are more on the bookcase by your door in the study. I hope you enjoy them.
All my love,
Alec
I shred the letter between my fingers before I run to the bathing chamber to flush the pieces, yanking the commode chain with flaming tears welling in my eyes. My heart rate eases back down when the small pieces of paper disappear.
Back in my room, I give in to my curiosity—needing a distraction from the last words I spoke to Alec—and inspect the stacks. The ones on my nightstand are indeed my favorites. The pile left on the floor are books on history, the one on top bound in shiny brown leather and stamped with the titleMysteries of the Culling.
The one directly beneath it appears ancient, the gold letters of a different language peeling from the black binding. Pulling it from the stack, I crack the spine in the center. It’s written in the same strange language as the title on the front, a tongue I’m not familiar with, but it holds endless pictured pages. I’m reminded of Locane telling me of an ancient book indirectly mentioning the gems and wonder if this is the one.
Closing the book gingerly, afraid the decrepit pages will deteriorate more in my hands, I return it to the pile on the floor.
Another light knock on the door steals my attention, this one softer than the last but still familiar.
Opening it wide, I find Nana with a beaming smile.
“I heard you and Kraeston had a good day,” she says in greeting, breezing into the room.
“If he’s going to just report to you and Alec everything I say, I suppose I’ll just stop talking to him.”
